


Derby

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22539391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Jerry spreads joy.
Relationships: Jerry(s)/Jerry(s) (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Derby

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He runs through his final checks, even though the park is entirely automated and everything’s always the same, but for once, it’s good that he did a physical scan. Jerry exits the belly of a ceramic whale and looks up at the roller rink, where neon lights are still streaming out the windows. Jerry can see the disco balls flashing different colours across the linoleum floor inside. He lets his eyes roll back into his head, lashes fluttering as he access the central lighting and attempts to shut it down.

The lights don’t go out. A familiar voice hums through their mass connection, _Not yet, Jerry. Not tonight._

Jerry’s pupils slot back into place. His LED stops flashing yellow. It’s not outside influence. No one hacked them, no one forgot to do their jobs, and kids didn’t break in. There’s no need to set off the alarm. Jerry strolls forward, crunching along the fallen fall leaves through the frigid night air. The wind cuts at his bare arms, but there is no need for a long-sleeved uniform. Jerry’s sensors tell him it’s _cold_ , but he doesn’t shiver. Temperature is a mere curiosity. Another Jerry murmurs, _It’s warm in here._

Jerry manually unlocks the panel outside the doors, and they swish open like they would’ve done automatically if it was still during park hours. But the park’s closed for the night. Jerry strolls inside the roller rink anyway. The music’s blaring—an old tune from nearly fifty years ago. The heavy beat and hypnotic non-instruments serenade an enthusiastic voice. Jerry meanders around the waist-high wall that separates the outside rim from the rink inside. It’s all styled to look like a pirate ship, including the Jerry sitting on a nearby bench. He’s the first mate of the roller rink. 

He smiles sweetly up at Jerry and pushes to his feet, wading forward with two strokes—he already has his skates on. He slides to a halt in front of Jerry and tilts one foot back to activate the break. Jerry tells him, “It’s after hours.”

“I know.”

“This building should be deactivated.”

“I know.”

Jerry tilts his head. The other Jerry tells him, “I wanted to skate with you. We can’t when the humans are here, so...”

Jerry simulates a look of confusion, responding to the conflicting lines of code that circle through his program. _The building should be deactivated._ Skating is for human guests. “That’s against protocol.”

Jerry smiles sadly. He kicks away, gliding backwards to the bench he came from. He plops down onto it, grabs shoes off the floor, then pushes back. He’s kneeling before Jerry a heartbeat later, tugging at the hem of Jerry’s uniform pants, and Jerry obligingly lifts his leg even though: “This is against protocol.”

“Just one night.”

Jerry changes his shoes with deft efficiency, something practiced on thousands of squirming humans, infinitely easier on a pliant subject. Jerry’s still connected to the network, still _one of them_ , but when Jerry really looks for it, he can tell that something’s _off_. This Jerry is different. But he’s still pleasant and beautiful. Jerry’s only authorized to kick out the disorderly. Jerry ties up his skates and stands up again.

Taking his hand, Jerry guides him to the rink. Jerry’s never skated before, but it’s easy enough to scan the program imbedded in the other Jerry’s code and copy it into his own software. If one Jerry can skate, they all can. The interface established between their entwined fingers only hastens the process. 

Jerry’s LED swirls, and the track changes, the music a little slower. He pulls Jerry around in a giant circle, tracing the perimeter of the rank, tugging Jerry with him, and Jerry follows more and more enthusiastically. Gliding is a freeing movement. It’s so much more efficient than walking. It’s faster, smoother, and sends the breeze ruffling through his hair and against his short sleeves. The red sash at Jerry’s waist flutters behind him. The rubber sword at his hip wobbles with each slide forward. Jerry was right. The rink is _warm_.

And it’s _fun._ Jerry’s built to judge that. He’s built to scan human faces and see if they’re _having fun._ Jerry’s having fun. Both of them.

“We should invite the others,” Jerry murmurs.

“Not tonight. Not at once.”

“Yes. We must keep the rink tidy.”

“And Jerrys’ power conserved strategically.”

“Yes. But I like skating with you, Jerry.”

Jerry does too.

He continues it long after his scheduled shut down, and the sights, sounds, and _feelings_ recorded there linger through his circuits in the morning. 

But Jerry skates again tomorrow night to a gorgeous song with a perfect partner.


End file.
